


The Possibility of Us

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Aromantic, Big Bang Challenge, Developing Relationship, Fanart, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Introspection, M/M, Mentors, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Relationships, Relationship Discussions, Relationship Negotiation, Self-Discovery, Star Wars Big Bang, Star Wars Big Bang 2020, Support Group, friends to queerplatonic partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: There's only one way to survive Hanahaki disease without having your love requited - the surgery that removes the invasive plant from your lungs but also takes away your ability to love romantically forever. As Tycho recovers and explores his new aromantic life, can there be a future for he and Wedge after all?
Relationships: Wedge Antilles & Tycho Celchu, Wedge Antilles/Tycho Celchu
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8
Collections: Star Wars Big Bang 2020





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, a huge thanks to aphorisnt, without whom so much more than this fic would not exist. We met three SWBBs about when she was assigned as my beta, and it was the start of a wonderful relationship that'sto have grown along with the fics - because now we're qpps! She sent me the prompt that eventually grew into this fic at a point when I'd never heard of the Hanahaki trope and also had no idea I'd soon come to identify as aroace myself. Love you lots, Betsy, and your beta help - and everything else - is always invaluable. <3
> 
> Now, onto some content notes. I understand some may consider it problematic to directly attach aromanticism to the Hanahaki trope. I just want to make it clear I wrote this fic while discovering my own arospec identity, and Tycho's journey is pretty personal to me. I'm not sure how well I've done, but I really tried to avoid "medicalizing" aromanticism as much as possible. On that note, there is a scene of aro discourse particularly in chapter two, along the lines of "Hanahaki aros aren't real aros." The beginning of chapter one also includes a vomiting scene.
> 
> Art will be included in the last "chapter." I hope you guys enjoy this. I'm certainly glad to finally have it posted. :)

It hurts to breathe.

Tycho lies on his side on the hard hotel bed taking slow, shallow breaths. He has another hour to sleep, but it's impossible like this. On every inhale and exhale, he can feel the tickle deep in his throat, the urge to cough he's desperately suppressing.

And it _hurts_. He's coughed before, and it brings the flowers up, scraping the insides of his trachea, leaving bruises and blood, leaving him in agony. Now just the passage of air makes him want to flinch and hide, if he didn't need it just to live.

From the bedside table, Tycho's comlink pings, and his breathing stutters just a little at the small surprise. It causes a little gasp of pain, makes him squeeze his eyes shut as he concentrates on evening his breaths again, staying calm, not doing anything to aggravate his condition.

Slowly, he moves just enough to retrieve the comm. It's a text-only message.

From Wedge.

_Good morning. Well, at least it's morning here. Not sure about where you are. It's silly, but you've been gone less than a day and I already miss you. I hope the doctors figure out what's wrong and you come back to us soon._

Tycho squeezes his eyes shut, throat abruptly aching with tears, and that doesn't help at all.

Wedge. Tycho's best friend, his squadmate, and the man he-

The sob forces its way out of Tycho's throat, sharpened by pain, and then he's coughing, hacking in agony. He fumbles for the bottle of water on the side table, hears his comlink smack onto the floor.

He chugs, the liquid soothing, but too late. He's coughing again, back arched sharply as he feels foreign objects boiling up into his throat. His trachea spasms, and he gags. The bottle slips from his fingers, sloshing across the mattress and disappearing over the edge.

Tycho hacks, desperately telling himself not to panic. In a moment, his throat will be clear, and he'll be able to breath again. It's happened before. It'll be over soon - it'll be over soon permanently.

And then it is. His throat rebels one more time, and then a lump pushes past his lips. There on the white pillowcase is a mess of phlegm and blood, and at its center lies a single flower, delicate pale pink petals mashed and twisted by their journey through his body.

Tycho stares at it, panting, forcing his breaths even again to keep the ordeal from repeating. The Hanahaki flower stares back.

Tycho looks away. He never imagined he'd be here. Never imagined he'd been on a strange planet waiting to see a specialist medic to carve an invasive plant out of his body because he's fallen in love with someone he can't have and that love is going to kill him.

Tears prick his eyes. Wedge. That's what Wedge is to him. His best friend, his squadmate – the man he loves. Even now, warmth blooms in his chest as Tycho thinks about him: Wedge's smile, the way his brown eyes spark when he's happy, the way he flies like no one Tycho has ever seen, even able to keep up with Luke despite his Force-enhanced skills. And when Wedge is sad, as he so often is, the way he sags into Tycho's presence, trusting him to hold him up in every way he needs, one of precious few he trusts so deeply.

Tycho loves him. He wants to hold his hand and kiss him and come back to him after every mission. To share his bed and his life and his happiness and sorrow, forever.

But he can't. Wedge is his friend, and just that. He doesn't love Tycho, not romantically. And Tycho won't ask him to. Their friendship means so much to both of them, has been gained through time and fire and pain and trust, and it's worth more than the possibility of what they might have.

It's worth more than the consequences.

Because Tycho is one of the rare people in the galaxy to contract Hanahaki disease. He's still not sure on the finer details of how it works, but it has something to do with the body's reactions to being in love. When the feelings are particularly strong, the spores of the parasitic Hanahaki flower can take root and feed on them, growing in a person's lungs and throat. Eventually, the plant will suffocate and kill the host.

It's painful knowing the slim odds that this would have happened to him. The Hanahaki plant only grows on a handful of planets, only releases its spores under exacting circumstances. Like the weather and temperature and time of year Tycho had happened to go on a solo mission to Nidiru II and breathe them in. His only consolations once he'd found out had been the mission's total success and the knowledge that none of his squadmates had ever been in danger. Hanahaki is impossible to transmit secondhand.

Then he only had to make the decision. There are only two ways to survive: for the love to be requited and those reactions to even out and lessen over time, killing the plant naturally...or the surgery.

The surgery removes the plant, but it also removes those feelings. Forever. Tycho won't be able to love Wedge in that way ever again. He won't be able to love _anyone_ in that way ever again.

Tycho squeezes his eyes shut, breathing deep and even. It's worth it. He'll still have Wedge. Nothing will change between them. Their relationship won't be damaged because he couldn't control his feelings. And besides, how important is romantic love anyway? He's already had his share of it with Nyiestra. And now there's so much else to think about – a war, people who need help, evil that needs to be defeated. He's a fighter pilot; he's in danger every day. He'll probably be dead before it would have made a difference anyway.

Tycho knows some would rather die than live like he's about it. Many have made the opposite choice, have died rather then go on like that. But he can't. The galaxy needs him. Not _him_ , exactly, but every body available to fight the Empire. He can still help. He still has so much to atone for. And he can't away and leave Wedge alone.

Tycho forces himself to rise from bed and clean up his mess. He's already decided on this. There's nothing more to think about. He's not going to tell Wedge, he's not going to let this kill him, he's already made an appointment, and now all that's left to do is go through with it.

Tycho fidgets as he lies on the surgical table. He feels cold and exposed in the thin, loosely tied hospital gown. He tries not to think of how exposed he'll really be when the surgeon is cutting him open and pulling invasive plants out of his insides.

“We're nearly ready,” the nurse droid says, soothing and gentle as she makes last marks on his chart and looks down at him. She picks up the mask that will deliver sleeping gas to get him throughout the surgery. “There's no going back after this, Mr. Celchu. Are you certain?”

Tycho nods sharply, not quite trusting his voice. _Just do it_ , part of him wants to say. _Get it over with._

“Very well. Take deep, even breaths, and next time you open your eyes, the procedure will be finished.”

Tycho closes his eyes as the mask is fitted over his face. It's not so different from the TIE pilot gear he used to wear, and the thought is oddly comforting. A moment later, it begins hissing as the gas travels up the tube.

He breathes, deep and even as he was instructed. For a few moments, nothing happens. Then, he begins to feel a bit lightheaded, like he's floating, like his worries are drifting away...

Again, he awakes to pain, though this is different. A dull ache in his throat and down his chest.

The nurse droid is hovering over him again when he opens his eyes. “Ah, welcome back, Mr. Celchu. The procedure went well.”

It's done then. Tycho looks down at himself, sees through the gap in his gown long swathes of bacta bandages covering his chest and stretching up to his neck.

“All traces of the Hanahaki plant were successfully removed,” the nurse droid goes on. “Everything was completely normal and successful. With diligent replacement of the bacta bandages, the incision marks should be gone within a few days and not even scar.”

Tycho barely hears her as he reaches for the other outcome of the surgery. His feelings, his lack of romantic love. He thinks of Wedge, pictures his friend's face in his mind, and there he is. His friend, affection and care still there, but...the warmth of something _else_ is gone. That non-unpleasant ache in his heart, that indescribable desperation for Wedge's attention and affection, the desire to do all those things one associates with love...they're gone. He can remember those feelings, but it seems they're already fading.

Tycho breathes shakily, not knowing quite how to describe or react to it. It's like part of him he knows was just there is suddenly missing, like he misplaced it somewhere while at the same time knowing no matter how hard he looks, he'll never find it again.

“Mr. Celchu?” the droid inquires. “How are you feeling?”

Tycho doesn't know how to respond.

After a while longer of no ill effects, the nurse droid checks all his vitals to confirm he's responding well, then leaves to allow him to redress. Tycho pulls on his pants and shirt, ties his boots, and, by habit, checks his comlink.

There's another message from Wedge, and it makes his heart lurch in a way he can't quite describe. The pain of that unrequited love is gone, but...it's almost like part of him misses it. The nonreaction itself feels foreign. All there is a sort of removed gladness to hear from his friend.

 _Hope everything is going well,_ Wedge has written. _I can't wait to see you again. I've got something to tell you._

Tycho doesn't know what it might be, but he's curious. Perhaps he really can just go back to normal, what it was like to be around Wedge before those other feelings developed, to just forget about them.

 _I can't wait to hear it,_ he answers. _I'll be back soon._

The droid returns once he's ready, gives him instructions on how to care for the physical effects of the surgery as well as providing him with a list of supplies he'll need and telling him where to get them, then releases him.

Back on the capital ship where the Rogues are currently stationed, Tycho disembarks from his X-wing. He moves slowly, the incision down his chest still aching despite the pain meds. At the bottom of the ladder, Wedge is waiting for him, a grin on his face and happiness in his eyes.

“Welcome back.”

Tycho has to smile despite himself. Wedge doesn't know where he was or exactly what he was doing. No one on this ship does. He'd been sick, he told them, and was using some leave to go find a doctor to check him out since he couldn't seem to shake whatever it was. His friend is simply glad to see him back and seemingly well.

“Did you get sorted?”

Tycho nods. “Just a bad bug after all.”

Wedge's face creases in sympathy. “You still sound like your throat feels awful.”

“Yeah.” He's still healing both from the damage the Hanahaki plant did and the results of the surgery, but that too should be gone soon. “Mostly better, though.”

“Good.” Wedge smiles at him, and there's a sort of bashfulness in it that Tycho is unfamiliar with.

“You said you had something you wanted to talk about?”

Wedge shifts nervously. “I'll let you settle in first. Do you want help with your bag?”

“No, I've got it.” He can't risk Wedge seeing his supplies, asking what they're for. “Just let me put them away and we can talk.”

“Sure.” Wedge's face flits into a smile again as he falls into step beside Tycho.

It's odd being this close to him now. Before he left, Tycho would have been a little nervous. Would have been trying to figure out if there was the possibility of more. Wondering what would happen if he shifted just an inch and brought their fingers into alignment. Now, that yearning is gone, and part of him feels relieved and yet part of him feels empty.

Wedge keeps shooting little glances at him, and Tycho hopes he hasn't sensed anything is different. He hasn't done anything strange, has he?

Then they're in Tycho's quarters, the door closed behind them, and Tycho tosses his pack beside the bed and turns back to his friend. “So what's up?”

Wedge pauses inside the door, watching him. His hands are twisting together nervously, and Tycho can't figure out for the life of him what might be wrong. He's starting to worry.

“Is it a girl?” he teases, trying to lighten the mood. He doesn't expect Wedge's face to go a brilliant red. Relief arcs through Tycho, as well as a pang he knows he would have felt _much_ deeper twenty-four hours ago, and he grins. “It _is_ a girl. Who?”

“Not a girl,” Wedge says softly, and he looks at Tycho like he's asking him to understand without words.

In that moment, Tycho's heart sinks, because he _does._ “Wedge...” The forced joy evaporates. His voice trembles.

Wedge takes a shaky step forward, then another, until he's right in front of Tycho. “You know,” he says softly, and there's relief there, gentle, tender. “It's you. It's you, Tycho, and I just finally realized it. You were gone, and I was worried about you, and I couldn't help, and I just wanted to be there for you. I wanted to hold you and comfort you and – I realized that wasn't just friendship talking.”

Tycho can feel his face contorting with emotion at the words, and there's no way he can stop it. No way to not be _devastated_ by the timing of them. “Wedge,” he says again, more of a whimper this time.

“Tycho?” Wedge sounds hurt now, not understanding. “Are you crying? Is it...I'm sorry, I thought maybe... Kriff, I'm sorry. You don't want this.”

“No. No!” Tycho grasps his hand before he can turn away, clutches it tight. “That's not it.”

“Then what...?” Wedge doesn't move, his hand shaking a little in Tycho's. “Why are you crying?”

Tycho can barely breathe through the tears pouring down his face now. His breath hitches, aggravating his still-healing throat, reminding him painfully of everything he's lost, everything that's being suddenly shoved right in his face. Everything he _just missed._

“I can't return these feelings, Wedge.”

Wedge goes rigid. “There's someone else.”

“No, not that either.”

“Tycho, please. I don't understand. What's wrong?”

With a shaking hand, Tycho undoes the button at his neck and parts his collar, then peels away the bandage to display the healing incision. “Do you know what this is?”

Wedge is silent for a long moment, then he jerks, his hand flying from Tycho's grip. “Tycho, no.”

“Yes.” Tycho tries to wipe away tears with one hand while the other rubs the mark on his chest. “Hanahaki. That's where I was. Getting the surgery.”

He manages to look up, see the wealth of emotions on Wedge's face. Shock, sadness, grief. Sudden horror.

“Who?” Wedge asks, his voice trembling. “Tycho...who were you...?”

Tycho bites his lip, bowing his head again as renewed tears trickle down his face. He can't say it.

“It wasn't,” Wedge whispers. “Please, Tycho. Tell me it wasn't...”

“You.” It's all Tycho can say, torn out of him with a sob. “I'm sorry. I didn't – I had no idea. I couldn't ruin our friendship. But instead I ruined this.” It's running through his head now, scene after scene, so fast, everything they could have had. Had he just waited, even a day. Had he talked to Wedge instead of giving into fear. They both could have had everything they ever wanted, but now it's too late.

“Force, Tycho.” Wedge sounds like all the wind has been knocked out of him, like he can't begin to know what to say, but he tries anyway. “I should have – if I'd thought, if I'd realized sooner-”

“No,” Tycho forces out. “You can't blame yourself for this. I chose. It's on me.”

Wedge just shakes his head, words gone now, as he closes the final distance between them, tentatively reaches out. “Can I hug you?”

“Please,” Tycho whispers. Because it can't fix anything, but he wants Wedge's arms around him so badly right now.

And Wedge does, sitting on the bed next to him and pulling Tycho close, wrapping him in a warm embrace. It shakes everything loose even more, and Tycho can only sob into his shoulder, clutching desperately at his shirt at the sheer _unfairness_ of it all. Wedge holds him, head pressed to Tycho's, and he hates so much that this is what's brought them so close.

He knows, he _knows_ it's only going to hurt more, but Tycho has to confirm it, has to be sure. “You do...?” he whispers against Wedge's shoulder.

“I love you,” Wedge says, confident even through his sorrow, and his arms tighten. “I think I have for a long time and didn't realize how much.”

Tycho's breath hitches in a sob. “I'm glad. I'm sorry I can't – I'm sorry I did this.”

“Don't be,” Wedge tries to soothe him. “I'm sorry I ever made you think you couldn't tell me.”

Tycho feels shame. Wedge told him. Without hesitation, as soon as he realized, he came to Tycho and told him. He wasn't a coward like Tycho, didn't ruin so much potential happiness for both of them.

After what feels like a long time, Wedge pulls back gently, just far enough to look at Tycho. His eyes are still wet, his face blotchy. He reaches out, touches Tycho's cheek, and Tycho sighs softly as he leans into it. It may not have the effect on him it might once have, but it still feels nice, is still a sign of his friend caring for him.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Wedge asks quietly.

Tycho swallows, trying to keep back the sobs that threaten to well up again. “No. It's done. I – I loved you, Wedge,” - it hurts _so much_ to have to put it in the past tense - “but it's too late. The surgery is done. I can't feel that anymore.”

Wedge nods slowly, and Tycho hates the defeat he can see in his eyes, the helplessness written in every line of his body. “I shouldn't ask this,” he says hesitantly, and inwardly, Tycho flinches, a dozen possibilities running through his head. “But – can I kiss you, Tycho? Just once. Just...”

He doesn't finish, but Tycho can guess. Just a taste. Just a hint of what they might have had, to assuage their curiosity, even though it will only hurt them both more.

He nods.

Wedge takes a breath, his eyes meeting Tycho's, saying so much words can't convey. His other hand comes up to frame his face, thumbs tenderly caressing Tycho's cheeks as he leans in. The kiss is gentle, chaste, and tastes of salt. So different from what Tycho might have imagined their first to be like.

His heart thumps not in pleasure, but pain. There's none of that warmth, none of the happiness of a dream achieved. Just...the physical presence and pressure of Wedge's lips on his. He can't even enjoy it.

He feels broken.

Finally, Wedge pulls away. He looks a little confused and a little hurt, and Tycho wishes he had something to give him. _Something_ to fix this.

“I'm sorry,” he says again.

Wedge looks away. “I am too.”

Tycho keeps telling himself it will get easier, but it doesn't seem to happen. Days pass, he heals physically, but it hurts every time he sees Wedge. There used to be that warmth in his heart, but now it's just pain, just a gnawing awareness of a void where emotion used to be. A string of guilt knowing Wedge has lost something too.

And Wedge, his closest friend – they're not the same. Tycho started this whole thing to ensure their relationship wouldn't suffer, and he's failed more than he could possibly have imagined. Things are awkward now when they're together. Wedge is trying too hard to keep his every action platonic, to not make Tycho uncomfortable, and it feels like they've regressed back to the earliest days of their relationship, when they couldn't even be called friends at all.

Tycho just wants to cry. He sacrificed so much, but it feels like he's lost Wedge anyway. This limbo they're in is so painful. They're not a couple, as they both wanted to be; they're not the friends they were. He doesn't know how to move on, how to fix it, or if it can be fixed. Just being around him hurts.

And he can't even try to distract himself by looking elsewhere. He can't have Wedge, and he can't have _anyone_. Knowing love is no longer even a someday possibility for him hurts. It's overwhelming, and even surrounded by friends, he feels lonely.

One day, after Tycho has gotten himself killed in a sim run and taken nearly half the squadron with him, Luke pulls him aside. He's unhappy but not quite angry as he asks, “What's going on with you? You haven't been yourself lately.”

Tycho doesn't know what to tell him. Luke is his friend, but this still feels so personal, like something he doesn't know how to talk about. At least Wedge had agreed to let him deal with it on his own terms.

Luke frowns. “I can sense that you're upset, Tycho. I know it's none of my business, but if it's going to affect your flying and the safety of the rest of the squadron, it has to be. Did something happen between you and Wedge?”

Tycho's mouth seems to move of its own accord, and he tells him everything, through stuttering words and barely-held-back tears.

In the end, Luke looks at him with a sympathy that thankfully avoids all-out pity. “I'm sorry,” he says genuinely, more friend now than commander. “I can't imagine what that's done to both of you.”

“I don't know what to do,” Tycho says helplessly. “I still care about him. He's still my best friend, if he even wants that anymore, but...it just hurts. I don't know what to do, Luke.”

“I doubt you're going to like this suggestion,” Luke says, “but I think you could use some more time away. Get your head on straight. Find out what this means for you in the long run. Figure out if you can still work with Wedge effectively, or if we'll have to separate you.”

Tycho's heart lurches at the thought, because the only thing worse than having to face Wedge every day knowing what's happened would be not seeing him at all. Anything could happen to him without Tycho there to watch his back.

“I don't know what I'll do if I'm not here working,” he admits.

“I can't really tell you either, but from what I've seen, you're not coping well with this. Even if it's just time to consider and sort through your feelings, I think you need that. Take a few days. Go somewhere nice. Relax. Figure it out.”

Tycho's hands curl into loose fists as a sense of helpless frustration leaks through him. Part of him doesn't want to leave – but part of him wants to _run_ now that he's been given the opportunity.

Luke is watching him, and when Tycho doesn't respond, he says, “I'll put in the datawork. Say, four days. Where do you want to go?”

Tycho shrugs.

“Figure it out. Let me know by the end of the day. And, Tycho? You'll get through this, okay? I know you will.”

Tycho excuses himself to his quarters early, ignoring everyone who tries to waylay him or offer company. He has other things to do, and the sooner he decides, the sooner he gets to leave. Part of him doubts that time will make anything any easier or lessen the tension between he and Wedge when he inevitably returns, but he can hope.

He sits at his terminal, opens a HoloNet page, and stares at the screen for a while, fingers poised over the keys. He doesn't know what to search for. What will help him?

Finally, he types in _Hanahaki disease survivor._

The screen populates with information, and Tycho instantly regrets his word choice. It's all romantic stories of those who found their true love and were saved from the disease. Romantic holodramas, novels, songs, real life testimonies. He swallows hard and immediately revises his search.

_Hanahaki disease survivor surgery._

The screen resets, and this time it feels closer to that nebulous thing he's looking for. Statistics, the dangers of the surgery, the pros and cons. Testimonials from those who chose to have it or who chose not to, and more.

Partway down the screen, a headline catches his eye: _Hanahaki survivors are aromantic._

Curious, Tycho clicks on it and begins to read. “Aromantic,” he soon learns, is a word for people who don't experience romantic attraction to anyone. He learns that there's a spectrum, that some people identify fully with the term while others fall into a gray area between aromantic and alloromantic – or a person who experiences romantic attraction in a more common way. He learns, with growing excitement, that though many people are born this way, that's not the only reason to use the word. Some people identify as aromantic because they've experienced trauma or are neurodivergent. Some – _like him_ – because they survived Hanahaki through having the surgery and are no longer able to experience those feelings.

Fingers trembling with emotion, Tycho goes back to the search page and types in _aromantic._

He stays in front of his console for hours, soaking in information, and by time he steps away, he knows where he's going to go.


	2. Part Two

Two days later, Tycho is loading his things back into his X-wing. He hadn't told Wedge – or anyone else – that he was leaving, and he doesn't think Luke did either. He's just not ready to have any sort of conversation with him. He's not ready to admit he's running away. Luke will inform the squadron of his leave after he's gone, and that'll be that.

But just as he's about to climb the ladder, there's a voice from behind him.

“You were just going to go without saying goodbye?”

Tycho thinks he manages to hide any outward flinch, his hands tightening on the rungs before he makes himself turn.

It's Wedge standing there, of course, a frown on his face, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Tycho doesn't know what to say.

Wedge's expression turns into an almost-glare. “I'm not sure I should let you go after what happened last time.”

Tycho sighs. “It's nothing like that. I'm just...taking a break. Luke thought it would be best.”

“To be away from me.” Wedge's voice is brittle, and there's no actual question there.

“It's not like that,” Tycho protests, though in many ways it's exactly like that.

“Running away isn't going to fix anything,” Wedge tells him, and they both pretend his voice isn't shaking. “Tycho – please.”

“I need time,” Tycho insists, swallowing hard. “I'm going to go find people like me, see how they've dealt with...this. I'll come back.”

Wedge fixes him with a look for long, intense moments, then jerks a nod. “You'd better.”

“I promise.”

Tycho looks back at him. Usually there would be a hug before they parted like this, but now it doesn't feel right. He holds out a hand, feeling foolish.

Wedge takes it after a slight hesitation, but instead of shaking, he squeezes lightly. “Good luck, Tycho. I hope you find what you're looking for.”

With Wedge's well-wishes, despite how unpleasant the conversation was, Tycho feels better. As he inputs the coordinates for his destination, he reassures himself. He will be back, in just four days, and he'll spend that time figuring out his feelings and his future. Once he's done that, he'll patch things up with Wedge. He believes it's possible. He doesn't want to imagine life if he loses his best friend over this.

Hours later, as the light of hyperspace fades away to reveal the green and blue planet of Naboo above him, determination washes over Tycho. He made a choice, and he's going to make the best of it. His life is still his, and he's going to figure this out.

When his research had led to him looking for people like himself, it hadn't taken long to find that meetings of aromantic people happened across the galaxy all the time. Naboo, a culture known for its diversity and acceptance of all identities, had many, and the one scheduled for today in a suburb of the capital of Theed had been suitably convenient.

Tycho has arrived several hours early. It doesn't take long to dock his ship and check into his hotel, and then he leaves the spaceport, simply wandering until he finds a botanical garden. It brings a smile to his face. He's always loved flowers, and he seldom gets to enjoy seeing them in person nowadays. Being in nature also calms him, offering a sense of peace that so often feels out of reach, especially lately. This will be a good way to spend time

He pays the small entry fee and walks among the blooms, breathing in the fresh air and the scent of the flowers and letting himself just relax and enjoy the scenery. Some of the plants he recognizes; many he does not. A perfectly cultivated Alderaanian flame-lily makes his heart squeeze not entirely unpleasantly as he reaches out to stroke the soft petals with a fingertip.

Then he turns a corner and sees it. In an indoor display, behind a transparisteel barrier dripping with humidity, is a short, scraggly bush, deep green with pale pink flowers. Tycho's breath stutters, his hands going clammy long before he takes in the card pinned to the wall beside it: _Hanahaki plant._ He doesn't need to read the paragraphs describing it or what it does.

Tycho stares, nearly dumbstruck. It's so odd to see it here. Just a plant. Just a little plant, roots and leaves and petals, like any other. One would never know looking at it the pain it can cause, the way it can upend someone's life.

He touches a finger to the transparisteel, wondering idly how dangerous it would be to display in the open. Hanahaki disease is rare, but is that because it's hard for the plant to take root in a person or because the spores are a rare thing to be exposed to in the first place? If he breathed them in, could he be struck again?

The question almost brings up bitter laughter. No, not if it feeds on love. And even if it somehow did infest his body, he could simply have the surgery again with no fear of consequences he's already living with.

Tycho stands there for a long time, staring at the plant and letting the feelings flow over him. Pain, confusion, loneliness, frustration. A small voice of _why me?_ But letting himself wallow won't help. At long last, he tears himself away, turns, and walks out of the garden.

The aromantic discussion meeting he’d found takes place in a communal space in a city building. Tycho gazes up at the shining pillars and lofty ceiling common to Naboo architecture, but then he’s not here for the beauty of the building.

He's grateful to not be the first to arrive. There are three or four others present when he walks in, seated in an otherwise empty circle of chairs. Tycho gives them a small smile as he silently takes his place.

“Welcome,” the one who appears to be the leader says to him. “We're just waiting for a few more, and then we'll get started.”

Those few more soon arrive. There are ten people total in the meeting, a number Tycho is comfortable with. Nearly a full squadron, he thinks with a small pang.

“We'll begin as usual with names and pronouns,” the leader announces once the final attendee has taken their seat. “I'm Marelle, they/them.” Then they turn to the person on their right, and introductions proceed around the circle.

The introductions get to Tycho, and he nervously clears his throat. “Um, hello,” he begins. “I'm Tycho, and I use he/him. Um, this is my first time here.” He hopes his nerves aren't too obvious.

“Welcome, Tycho. We're glad you're here.”

With Marelle smiling at him, and he feels a little better.

When everyone has spoken, Marelle looks them over. “It's nice to have such a big group today. Tycho,” they say encouragingly. “Since this is your first time with us, would you like to begin?”

“Um, sure,” Tycho says. He feels suddenly a little out of place knowing he's the only new face among them. “I found this group on the HoloNet, and it seemed like a good place for me to find some more information and people like me. Just recently, I contracted Hanahaki disease and had the surgery to cure it. So I'm kind of...figuring out where I stand now.”

He looks around, anxiety roiling in his gut – and it only gets worse when he sees the effect his words seem to have had. A few members of the group look uncomfortable. Two or three look outright hostile. Marelle has a thoughtful look on their face, but as they open their mouth, a woman across the circle, two chairs to Tycho's left, speaks up, her voice shrill.

“A Hanahaki 'aro?'” she says, biting sarcasm on the word unmistakable. “This group is for real aromantics.”

“Shasta-” Marelle says placatingly, but another man cuts them off.

“I agree. We come here to share our experiences as aromantics and the way society treats us, not to hear whining from allos who made a _choice._ ”

Tycho's mouth drops open. He hadn't expected – he hadn't –

“Listen,” Shasta says, her eyes boring into Tycho. “No offense, but you're different. People understand when you tell them your sob story. There's a medical explanation that makes you unable to love. Sure, they think it's sad, but they believe you. They have a _reason_. You give fuel to the people who believe Hanahaki survivors are the only real aros; you make the rest of us look fake.” There are murmurs of assent from around the circle.

“I never meant to do that,” Tycho says weakly.

“And you didn't,” Marelle intercedes. “Any person who identifies as aromantic is welcome in this group. That includes Hanahaki aros. Tycho, if you'd like to continue?”

Tycho bites his lip, not sure he would. “I didn't...I just wanted to meet other people like me. Other aromantic people. I'm not trying to disprove anyone or give any bad people ammunition. I got the surgery because I didn't want to die. _That_ was my choice.”

“So you didn't choose to be aromantic,” the same man – Hiru, Tycho recalls – says sharply. “Because who would? Who would _want_ to be broken like one of us, right?”

“That's not-”

“I want him to stay,” a teenage girl pipes up. “I'm just starting to question whether I'm aro or not, and I'm not entirely sure I've experienced romantic attraction or not. Tycho, you _know_ you both have and haven't. You could explain!”

Tycho swallows. That seems like a lot of responsibility for being so new to this identity himself.

Shasta jumps to her feet. “If he's staying, I'm leaving. I'm serious. I came to this group to be with other real aromantics. If we're going to open our doors to just anybody, I'll find somewhere else. Who's with me?”

More murmuring, and a few hands hesitantly rise.

Tycho's eyes sting. He thought he'd find acceptance here. He thought he'd find answers to his questions. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe he doesn't belong after all. He thinks back to the title of that article: _Hanahaki survivors are aromantic._ Maybe he was wrong to believe it.

Tycho stands, shaking all over and unable to even try hiding it. “I'll go.” His voice shakes, too, and he can't even be embarrassed. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to invade anything.”

“Tycho, please,” Marelle says, but Tycho shakes his head.

“I'm sorry,” he repeats. “I won't bother you again.”

He walks stiffly toward the door, and behind him, no one protests.

Tycho just manages to make it outside the building and around the corner before he collapses back against the smooth facade and bursts into tears. He can barely breathe around his sobs, and he just...doesn't know what to do next.

“Tycho.”

He flinches hard at the sound of his name, already turning away. “I'm going,” he says roughly. “You don't have to chase me away.”

“Tycho, no, that's not– Will you look at me?”

It's only then that Tycho realizes it's Marelle. He turns, struggling to wipe his eyes so he can see them.

The group leader is frowning, looking genuinely torn. “I am so sorry about that. That's not...that is _not_ what this group is supposed to be. We welcome _everyone_. We've never had a Hanahaki aro before, so I didn't know we have people who are so vehemently exclusionary.” They shake their head, looking angry now. “That's not okay. In the community in general or for us specifically.”

Tycho just looks at them. “So...do you think I should be, I guess 'counted' is the right way to say it, as aromantic?”

“Do you feel romantic attraction?”

Tycho's heart squeezes. “No,” he says softly.

“Then you're aromantic. And even if you sometimes did, you might still be arospec. How you identify is up to you, and I hope you won't let what happened today change that. I know how hard it can be when you're new to an identity, especially getting that reaction.” They reach out, hesitate, and then clap Tycho on the arm. “I won't ask you to come back right now. I know I wouldn't want to at this point. But I hope you'll let me apologize, on behalf of all of us.”

Tycho looks away, brushes away his last few tears. “What some of the others said isn't your fault.”

“I am the leader. And I should have known.” They meet Tycho's gaze. “I'd like to talk to you more. Make sure you're okay, give you some resources. Would you be interested?”

“I'm only visiting the planet,” Tycho says hesitantly. “I won't be around long.”

“Tomorrow? I can give you my address, and we'll talk as long as you need to. How does that sound?”

Part of Tycho is _scared_. He came into this too flippantly, and he doesn't want to be hurt again. But a bigger part is desperate for understanding and fellowship. “Okay,” he says. “Thank you.”

Marelle smiles reassuringly. “I mean it, Tycho. The community isn't like this. It shouldn't be. You and people like you are welcome here. I'll make sure you know it.”

Finally, Tycho smiles a little, too.

Marelle gives Tycho their information before going back inside, promising to reprimand the group for their reaction. Tycho isn't sure what to think of that, suspecting it will only make them resent him more, but he's grateful too. It feels nice to be defended, even if only in the aftermath. Part of him understands Marelle's surprise and their inability to get things under control in the moment.

Tycho walks back to his hotel, feet dragging even through the beautiful streets of Theed. He's been through so much emotionally today, and it suddenly feels like it's hitting him all at once. He just wants a bed, maybe some food, maybe a little more crying to get those feelings out for now, and sleep.

He's grateful when he gets to the room and is able to close the door behind him. It's not particularly fancy – he couldn't afford anything like that – but it's clean, there's a nice bed, and a shower and refrigeration unit. Tycho doesn't even undress before he flops down onto the bed.

Tears come again, sudden and unmerciful, perhaps as a result of finally being alone, able to loose his emotions in private. His throat aches, tight sobs and harsh exhalations echoing in his ears as he gasps for breath. The pain and confusion reminds him sharply of that morning before the surgery.

Almost without realizing what he's doing, Tycho pulls out his comlink and selects a frequency with shaking fingers.

The voice that answers sounds surprised. “Tycho?”

“Wedge,” Tycho gasps.

Instantly, Wedge is on alert. “You're crying. What's wrong?”

“I-” Words tangle together in Tycho's throat as he tries to press them out in an orderly fashion through his emotions. “I'm-”

“Are you hurt?”

Tycho shakes his head, knowing Wedge can't see it, but speech is hard right now. “No.”

“You're upset.” Wedge's voice softens. “Can you tell me why?”

Tycho sniffles. “I can try.”

“That's all I can ask.”

Tycho swallows with difficulty, trying to marshal his words. He called Wedge. He has to say something. “I went to a meeting today,” he begins shakily. “For aromantics. People like me, who don't feel romantic attraction.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Wedge says encouragingly. “Did it not go well?”

Tycho shakes his head again, voice quiet and pinched when he says, “No.”

“What happened, dear heart?”

Tycho trembles at the endearment, but he can't focus on it now. “Some of them told me I didn't belong. That Hanahaki aros aren't real. That I'm not a real aro because I chose to be this way.”

“Bastards,” Wedge says definitively. “Regardless of everything else, you chose not to die, and how can they fault you for that? You deserve the same support as anyone else like you. Where are you? I'll come give them a piece of my mind.”

Tycho chuckles wetly at that. “You don't need to, but I appreciate it. Just the image of you and Shasta getting into it on my behalf is...well, it's comforting.”

“I would do it, you know,” Wedge says solemnly. “No matter what's happened between us, Tycho, even if we're not exactly the same...you're still my best friend. I care about you, and I want you to have you everything you need. All the good things. I'm glad you called me.”

Tycho closes his eyes, a more cathartic kind of tears threatening. “Thank you, Wedge,” he whispers. “I can't tell you what that means to me.”

“I mean it.” There's a long pause, both of them thinking, before Wedge goes on, gently. “When you get back, let's get together and talk, okay? I don't want any of this to hurt us anymore. I want to understand everything you've gone through. I want to be able to support you however I can.”

Tycho swallows again, just the sheer amount of understanding hitting him right in the heart. “Thank you,” he says again, softly. “There's one thing, I think. I still don't know all that much; I'm still researching myself. The leader of the group, Marelle, was kind to me even if some of the members weren't. I'm meeting with them tomorrow to discuss things, just the two of us. I'll tell you what I find out when I get back. And maybe in the meantime you can do some research of your own? On aromanticism in general and Hanahaki aros in particular? That might be a good start.”

“I'll do that,” Wedge says, and Tycho hears keys being pressed as he makes a note of the words. “Thank _you_. For telling me how I can help. I always want you to do that. And, Tycho?”

Tycho pauses, alert to a subject change coming, renewed anxiety in his friend's voice. “Yes?”

Wedge lets out a breath. “I'm sorry if – no. No, not 'if'. I'm sorry I've made this all harder for you. I never meant to be selfish, and maybe I still am but...it's hard for me too. It feels like we've both lost something, but I know it's worse for you. I'm sorry.”

He's right. Tycho thinks about how they're unable to be romantically linked but can still stay friends. Someday, Wedge will find someone to love in that way, and Tycho never will. It's not jealousy, exactly, but more of a wistfulness. Tycho is happy for Wedge at the idea and yet melancholy he can never again have it himself. Still, he wants to see Wedge happy.

“I understand. I know how it felt when I wanted you so badly and felt like I couldn't have you. You had to have felt the same.”

“I still do,” Wedge says softly. “I can't just make those feelings go away any more than you can make them come back. But I'm dealing. I'll never do anything to make you uncomfortable.”

“I didn't realize.” Tycho swallows, fear that Wedge might somehow also develop Hanahaki disease a small, cold spot in his gut. He _knows_ how unlikely it is, though, knows Wedge wasn't exposed to the spores when he was, and there are other things for them to discuss right now, things that actually are happening. “Wedge...I never had any problem with you loving me, you know. I just can't return it, and you deserve someone who can.”

“Make no mistake, Tycho: just because we can't be a couple doesn't mean I don't want you in my life. If you ask me, there can be more to love than romance.”

“I think you're right.” Tycho smiles, finally, warmth blooming inside him. Things may not be complete, but it feels like they're well on their way to fixing things. “I'm glad we had this talk. I think I was more worried about losing you entirely than I realized.”

“I promise you that will not happen.”

“You're going to make me cry again.”

“You're allowed to do that. I just wish you weren't out there in the galaxy somewhere where I can't hug you while you do.”

Tycho doesn't expect the sudden _longing_ that flares up in him at the idea. “I wish you could.”

“I will when you get back. The biggest wampa hug I can muster.”

Warmth suffuses Tycho. “I can't wait.”


	3. Part Three

Marelle answers the door immediately, smiling at Tycho as they gesture him inside. The apartment is small but still feels decadent in the way everything on Naboo seems to. Or maybe it's just that Tycho is so used to plain military quarters and ersatz bases.

“Thanks for coming,” Marelle says as they lead the way to the living room. “Would you like some tea?”

“Thank you,” Tycho says, accepting a cup as he sits.

“So.” Marelle sits across from him with their own cup. “I'm glad you came today. And regardless of how things went, I'm glad you sought us out yesterday. Coming to terms with your identity can be hard. I imagine especially so in your case.”

 _In your case._ That makes Tycho frown a little. “So you're not a Hanahaki survivor yourself. I thought maybe...”

“No. I do identify as aroace – both aromantic and asexual – myself, but not because of Hanahaki. But like I told you before, in my eyes and in the eyes of many others, you are just as a valid a member of the aromantic community as anyone else.”

Tycho nods and makes himself ask, “Do you know anyone like me? Any other Hanahaki aros?”

“Not personally, no, but in the circles I move in on the HoloNet there are some. I imagine that's frustrating, there being so few of you out there to begin with.”

“I hadn't actually looked into it that much,” Tycho admits. “I know the disease is rare, but I hadn't thought about that.”

“It's a minority of a minority,” Marelle says with sympathy. “It's okay to be frustrated by that, but remember that you're not actually alone. There _are_ other Hanahaki aros out there and plenty of aros who accept you.”

“Thanks.” Tycho sips his tea, trying to think of what to say next.

“You've said you're pretty new to this,” Marelle starts. “I'm guessing you had the surgery pretty recently. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but I'm interested in your story.”

“I gather it's not much different than any other Hanahaki survivor. I was in love with my best friend. I chose to get the surgery rather than telling him and risking ruining our friendship. I never told him I was sick.”

“Does he know now?”

Tycho has to look away, Wedge's ill-timed confession of love still too fresh in his mind for all that they'd discussed it after.

“That was too far. I apologize.”

“No. It's just...really fresh. We've talked about it. It's hard, but we're working on it.”

“That's good. It's important to keep friends close.”

“That's one of the things I keep wondering,” Tycho finds himself saying. “I know romantic love isn't the most important thing in life, but I still wonder. Will I die lonely, with no one to love me? No one to love? I was engaged once, and I can remember how I felt about my friend before, and it hurts to think I'll never have that again.”

Marelle nods. “Many aros ask similar questions. Society conditions us to think that romance is an integral part of life, a box one has to check to be a real adult living a fulfilling life. We call that amatonormativity. But it's not true. If you try to shed that, you see will that there are so many other things to life. What makes _you_ happy? Do you have friends? A job you enjoy? Pastimes you're passionate about?”

Tycho considers that. “I am dedicated to my job. It means a lot to me, and I did always wonder if a romance was really compatible with it anyway. And friends.” He smiles, thinking of the Rogues, sharing everything so intimately, both joys and sorrows. “I don't have a lot of time for leisure, but there are things I enjoy.”

“You're off to a good start then. And besides, if you truly desire a romantic relationship, there's nothing to keep you from having one.”

“What?” Tycho's brow furrows. “But that's impossible when I don't feel that kind of attraction.”

“Not necessarily.” Marelle leans forward intently. “Some aromantics – those closer to the allo end of the spectrum and even 'full' aros – still enjoy being in what most would call a romantic relationship. They enjoy romantically coded actions like dates, holding hands, kissing, and sex if they're allosexual. The important thing about it is communication and both partners knowing how the other feels and setting boundaries that work for both of you. Or all of you, if we're talking about a poly person.”

“Oh. I had no idea.” Tycho thinks about it for a few moments, feels a frown forming on his face. “I don't think I would like that. I don't really have the desire to do those things anymore, not with any sort of feeling attached. I think I would feel like I was putting on an act.”

Marelle nods. “It's certainly not for everyone. There are other options too if you're interested in a non-romantic committed relationship. Have you heard of queerplatonic relationships?”

“No. What is that?”

Marelle grins. “Just a moment.” They turn, lean over the back of their chair, and call, “Kana?”

A door opens down the hall, and a woman steps out, brown-skinned with dark ringlets bouncing around her chin. She comes down the hall to the living room. “Yes, love?”

Tycho blinks in confusion at the word.

Marelle holds out a hand, and she takes it, perching on the arm of their chair. “This is Tycho. Tycho, this is Kana, my queerplatonic partner, or QPP for short.”

Tycho blinks. They're clearly happy and comfortable with each other; if he didn't know better, he would definitely assume they were a romantic couple. “Hello,” he says dumbly.

“Hello,” Kana says with a little laugh.

“A QPR is a pretty open concept,” Marelle explains. “The basic definition is a committed relationship that's not romantic. Some explain it as something between a romance and a friendship. Some explain it as friendship, but stronger. Another way of putting it is that it goes beyond what society generally expects from a friendship. For example, Kana and I aren't romantically involved, but we live together and share finances. I'm more emotionally intimate with her than with anyone else I've ever known.”

“Are you aro too, then?” Tycho asks Kana.

“I'm not,” Kana answers. “Actually, I have a girlfriend. But I prioritize my relationship with Marelle at an equal level, because we're committed to each other. They're my partner. They're just as important a person in my life as my girlfriend. QPRs don't have to be exclusive; obviously, ours isn't.”

“So...it sounds a little like sort of a platonic dating situation?” Tycho ventures, trying to suss it out in his head.

“That's one way of putting it. Some people in QPRs call their QPP their boyfriend or girlfriend or datemate – or platonic boyfriend, girlfriend, datemate, etc. Some go on actual dates that others might see as romantic. Some people in QPRs use pet names for each other or endearments or are physically affectionate. Some sleep together, figuratively or literally. Some might get married and raise children.

“Others may not take on all those trappings. The relationship may be long distance. They may not live together, or they may have separate rooms. They may not be physically intimate at all.

“It's really up to the people involved to decide what they want out of it. The only baseline is that the bond is intimate, committed, and non-romantic.”

Tycho's head is spinning. “That sounds really nice actually. Sort of like being married to your best friend.”

“You could say that, yes.” Marelle smiles at Kana, and she smiles back. The love between them is clear, even if it's not romantic. “Do you think that's something you'd be interested in, Tycho?”

That longing Tycho felt last night when Wedge said he wanted to hug him is back. To have Wedge by his side permanently, the two of them caring for each other, sharing affection that's not romantic...it makes him ache with want. But would Wedge be interested? Would it be too close to what they might have had?

“I think so,” Tycho answers slowly. “Maybe it's not something I would have sought out in general, but...my friend. I think I'd like to have that with him.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Marelle says. “You deserve to be happy, Tycho. You deserve to be happy and confident in your identity and have someone who will stand by your side and love and support you.”

“I know he supports me already,” Tycho says, smiling as he remembers their conversation. “I just don't know if that would be too much for him or if he would think it's weird.”

“You must already be close for you to be considering it, yes?”

Tycho nods. “He's my best friend. We've worked together for years. Saved each other's lives more than once.”

“Talk to him,” Marelle encourages. “Explain the concept. Maybe do some more of your own research on it first. Remember that whatever form your relationship takes, you can use queerplatonic as the word for it if you both choose. And even if he doesn't want that, you might feel better having asked rather than go on wondering.”

It's like Tycho has been struck by lightning. It's like this is a second chance. He threw away his chance at a romantic relationship with Wedge because he was afraid to approach him, but he could still have this. It isn't a replacement; he understands this will be different. But he wants it just the same. He and Wedge, committed to each other, offering that same support and affection they might have had, but in a new way. It's like he can breath again.

“Are you okay, Tycho?” Kana asks.

He blinks, smiles at the pair of them. “Fine. Just...realizing some things.”

They both smile back. “I'm glad the idea appeals to you,” Marelle says. “I encourage you to pursue it if it's something you want.”

“I will. Thank you so much for explaining.”

Tycho feels lighter than he has in a long time as he flies back to the Rebellion. He's only taken half the leave he planned, but he needs to get back to Wedge as soon as possible. He'd spent another day doing research on various types of queerplatonic relationships, and the more he read, the more impatient he got to talk to his friend. Soon, the moment of truth will be at hand.

Wedge is flying a patrol when he lands, and Tycho waits, full of equal parts eagerness and anxiety, for him to return. Luke catches him there, offers his sunny farmboy smile and asks how he's doing.

“Much better,” Tycho says honestly. “I learned a lot. I really need to talk to Wedge.”

Luke wishes him luck and claps him on the arm before heading over to his own ship to swap with Wedge.

Soon, Luke heads out, waggling his S-foils in acknowledgment as Wedge comes swooping into the hangar. Tycho's heart thuds harder.

Wedge sets his fighter down textbook-perfect, and Tycho watches through the battle-scarred transparisteel cockpit as he does his post-flight checks. Then, the canopy pops open and he climbs down. His helmet comes off as soon as his boots touch the ground, and he shakes his head to right his hair.

Warm fondness snakes through Tycho at the little actions. He hadn't thought he'd be able to feel that absent of his former feelings for Wedge, and it's reassuring. It feels like he's about to do the right thing.

That's when Wedge spots him. A grin grows on his face, and he barely takes a moment to set his helmet down before he's racing across the hangar to meet him.

Tycho manages to swallow the urge to cry as Wedge wraps his arms tight around him, the wampa hug so good it's easy to ignore the life support box digging into his chest.

“I missed you,” Wedge murmurs into his ear.

Tycho hugs him tight. “I missed you too. We have a lot to talk about.”

Wedge steps back, and the smile on his face is warm and affectionate. It makes Tycho feel at home. So different from the last time he saw him. “Can I shower first? Maybe grab some food?”

Tycho makes an affirmative sound. “I haven't eaten either. Picnic in your quarters?” he asks hopefully.

“It's a date,” Wedge answers, then flinches. “Well-”

“I know what you meant,” Tycho reassures him. “Go. You smell.”

Wedge still looks a little uncertain, but he smiles again before heading off.

Twenty minutes later, they're perched on his bed together eating the rations they picked up from the kitchen. The food nothing to write home about (they never are), but just getting to spend this time with his best friend makes Tycho happy.

They chat as they eat, first about what the Rogues have been up to over the last few days, then they move on to the more important topic. Tycho shares some of the things Marelle had told him about aromanticism, and Wedge adds what he's come across in his research. It seems he's spent quite a bit of time doing it since he last talked to Tycho, and it feels good to know he was serious about it. Not that Tycho ever doubted him.

He asks questions, too, some of which Tycho can answer and some of which he can't with his limited experience in his new identity. When this happens, Wedge is always patient, always offers to help him explore himself and support him however he can.

Tycho's heart climbs higher and higher in his throat with hope until he finally can't wait any more.

“When you were researching, did you ever come across the concept of queerplatonic relationships?”

Wedge pauses. “Yeah. I'm not sure I entirely understood it though.”

Tycho treads with caution, terrified of putting him off. “The way Marelle described it, it's basically a committed relationship that's not romantic. Outside of that, it can involve anything from what other people might not consider any different from 'normal' friends to literally being married with everything that entails.”

Wedge still looks uncertain.

“Let me try it this way. If I were in one,” Tycho explains, terror and relief warring as he starts down the final path directly, “I'd want something that looks more like an intimate friendship. It would be someone I was emotionally close to, someone I could share anything with. Someone I loved platonically and could say that to and have said back to me. Maybe with some physical affection – hand-holding, hugs, platonic cuddles, that sort of thing. I wouldn't mind sharing quarters with them either, or even a bed.”

Wedge is looking at him, and he seems almost as breathless as Tycho. Tycho feels like his hair is standing on end, like the entire galaxy is holding its breath, waiting on Wedge's next words.

“Some of that sounds like what we already have,” Wedge says cautiously.

Everything in Tycho longs. He hadn't said it was strange. He hadn't said no. “Yes. And the rest are things we could have, if you were comfortable. If you wanted them too. We could negotiate, decide what we both want.”

Wedge lets out a slow breath, asks quietly, “Are you asking me, Tycho?”

“Yes.”

Wedge's face breaks, a smile, but with tears, and for a moment, Tycho is scared, doesn't know what it means, until Wedge says, voice shaky but not sad, “Tycho...I wondered. As soon I saw the concept, I wondered.”

Tycho can't help but reach for his hand, squeezing it tight to show he understands. “Me too. We do have to talk through it, though. That's important.”

Wedge nods, using his free hand to dash away tears. “Where do we start?”

Tycho looks from their linked hands to Wedge's face. His heart is bursting with emotion, but he knows they need to set ground rules. They need to set boundaries so neither of them make the other uncomfortable. “First, it's not a replacement for romantic love. This isn't a second choice because we can't have that.”

Wedge nods slowly. “I have to admit those feelings aren't entirely gone. Like I said, I can't just make them disappear. But I think, knowing what I do about you, that they'll fade in time. And I understand that's not what this is. If you can be patient with me, I'm more than willing to try.”

“Of course I can.” Tycho squeezes his hand again. “You're my best friend, Wedge.” A smile curves his lips insistently. “Maybe more now. Being patient with you is the least I can do.”

Wedge smiles back, soft and affectionate. “What else?”

“Things I don't want,” Tycho says. “Nothing overtly romantic; I don't think that would be comfortable for either of us. That's not what that is, and I don't want to feel like I'm playing at it. No dates, no kissing, nothing like that. As for sex...” He feels his face going red but pushes on. “We should talk about that.”

“Is that not...romantically coded?” Wedge ventures.

At that, Tycho has to chuckle. “You can't tell me you've been in love with anyone you've ever slept with.” He quickly sobers again. “The thing is, I'm aromantic, not asexual. I'm not romantically attracted to you anymore, but I still am sexually. Does that make sense? I still find you attractive.”

“Thank you?” Wedge says awkwardly.

Tycho chuckles again, a little of the tension bleeding out of the conversation. “And I'm going to go out on a limb and say you feel the same. Some QPRs do involve sex. As for ours...I want to say no, at least for now. It's something we can talk about more later on, once we've settled into things, but for now I think it would be too confusing for both of us. But I also don't want it to be assumed that it _will_ change – we might both decide we're better off without that as part of our relationship. Is all of that okay?”

“Of course, Tycho. I assumed sex wasn't on the table, and I'm never going to expect it of you. We'd still be able to have sex with other people, though, right? We're committed to each other, but it doesn't have to be entirely exclusive.”

“Exactly.” Tycho is relieved that he understands that bit. “You'd be able to have sex with or be in a relationship with whoever else you wanted, and so would I. We'd prioritize each other and consider each other's feelings about things always, but neither of us would have to give that up.”

“That sounds good. So, we don't have sex, at least not at first, but you mentioned physical affection. Hand-holding? Cuddling? Bed-sharing?”

“Yes. If you're comfortable with all of that. I know we haven't done a lot of that before, outside of sometimes hugs. Sharing a bed is definitely something to talk about more; we could try easing into it and seeing how it goes, if you want to. As for the rest...I think it would be nice.” Tycho bites his lip, is relieved when Wedge smiles at him.

“Do you know how many times I've wanted to cuddle you even before I realized I was in love with you? Have you seen your sad face? Or even your happy one? They demand cuddles.”

Tycho flushes, giggling, and leans in even as Wedge moves toward him. Wedge's arms go around him, warm and certain, and Tycho all but collapses into him, resting his head on his shoulder. “This is nice.”

Wedge hums happily against him. “How about the things we can say?” he murmurs. “What do I call you? My QPP? My partner?”

“Either of those,” Tycho tells him, rolling his head to meet his eyes. He flushes again. “I like the thought of being your partner.”

“My partner, Tycho,” Wedge says, and Tycho can barely breathe for joy.

“My partner, Wedge.”

Wedge squeezes him tight again. “One more question.”

“Yes?” Tycho breathes.

“Can I tell you I love you?”

Tycho trembles, hides his face in Wedge's neck again, completely overwhelmed.

“Platonically, of course,” Wedge murmurs. His hand comes up to touch Tycho's hair, and Tycho melts against him. “Even before, I could have used those words. I care about you. I want to be with you. I love you.”

It takes several moments for Tycho to regain himself enough to speak, but when he does, he grasps Wedge's hand and answers with everything he has. “I love you too. I'm happy to have you as my partner. And I can't wait to see where we go from here.”


	4. Epilogue

After a few more weeks of research and getting comfortable with his new sense of self, Tycho comes out to the rest of Rogue Squadron, Wedge by his side. They're all accepting, of course. Some have questions, and some just leave it as none of their business as long as Tycho is happy. Luke stands to one side, looking proud of all of them.

Time passes, and things grow to normal. Tycho and Wedge get accustomed to introducing each other as their partner and then gently correcting people when they assume that equates to “boyfriend” and explaining what it really means.

The physical affection starts slower, but soon they grow more comfortable with it. Tycho will reach for Wedge's hand when he's anxious; Wedge will stroke his hair when he needs a distraction. They'll exchange desperate hugs and whispered endearments after difficult missions.

Wedge, using Luke's good word as leverage, manages to get them assigned to shared quarters. They still have separate beds, which is ideal for them most of the time, but sometimes they share. Tycho likes those occasions, likes Wedge wrapped around him warm and protective, but he doesn't mind they don't do it every night. He's still working on his own confidence in initiating, and he thinks Wedge is too.

They talk – a lot. Always discussing how they both feel, whether they're still comfortable with their arrangement and if anything needs to be adjusted. It rarely does. They already worked so well together, and that largely hasn't changed.

Tycho begins to think about forming some sort of aromantic or general aspec support group of his own amongst his Rebellion comrades. It's difficult to find people for it though; either they're not out, or they're not there. It's something he continues to pursue, though, with Wedge always ready to back him. Maybe someday Tycho will lead a group just like Marelle, one that gladly welcomes everyone, and he'll be able to help people just like Marelle helped him.

One day, Tycho comes back to his and Wedge's quarters after a sim session with Luke and Dak gets cut short. When the door opens, Wedge lets out a surprised sound from inside and scrambles to hide something, the noise of crinkling paper filling the room. Tycho only catches a flash of green before he's shoved whatever it is under his blankets and turned to face Tycho, looking anything but innocent.

“Keeping secrets, are we?” Tycho asks mildly.

Wedge flushes. “Nothing bad, I promise.” Then he smiles sweetly. “Go back outside for five minutes so can I finish getting it ready?”

“Okay...” Tycho goes back out and closes the door, curiosity thrumming through him. He has no idea what Wedge is up to.

Something more like ten minutes later, the door slides open, and Wedge beckons him back in. “Finished.”

Tycho reenters to find a large box on his bed. “Did I forget an anniversary?” he teases lightly, though he knows he didn't. He'll never forget the day Wedge agreed to be his partner.

Wedge laughs softly. “No. I would have saved it, but I couldn't wait anymore. Open it.”

Tycho smiles at his enthusiasm. He sits down on the bed and pulls the cover from the box. It's plain white, but inside is a bundle covered with rainbow-hued tissue paper. Tycho glances at Wedge, who's practically bouncing up and down on his own bed, before looking back and removing the paper.

“ _Oh_ ,” Tycho breathes as he takes in his gift. It's a crocheted blanket, comfortingly soft as he runs his hand over it. He gently removes it from the box and holds it up, instantly recognizing the dark and light green, white, gray, and black stripes of the aromantic flag. Then he notices the imperfections in the blanket: a missing stitch here and there, the rows not completely uniform, and he whips to face his partner, mouth falling open. “Wedge, did you make this?”

Wedge nods, exuding a mixture of pride and sheepishness. “I started learning right after I talked to you when you were on Naboo. It's not perfect, but I did my best. I kind of wanted to do the Hanahaki aro pride flag specifically, but I didn't think I could learn to do the flower shape as quickly as I could the plain stripes. And then I read about the controversy surrounding it and wasn't sure that was what you'd want anyway.”

“Wedge...” Tycho hardly knows what to say. Knowing that Wedge put so much thought and time into making this just for him...

There's a quiet sound as Wedge stands and approaches him. “I wanted to do something to remind you always that I accept every part of you,” he says softly. “I know you don't need my validation, but you have it. Always.”

“Thank you,” is all Tycho can manage to get out. He wraps the blanket around his shoulders, pleased to discover it's big enough to cover his entire body, even his head, like a cloak. Safe and protected, the way Wedge always makes him feel. “It's perfect.”

“I'm surprised I managed to keep it a secret from you for so long. I've been working on it every spare moment I could. I had a whole network of allies keeping you away, and today of all days you nearly caught me.”

Tycho chuckles, a lot of interactions he's had over the past weeks suddenly making sense. “I can't believe I never noticed something was up.”

“You can be really unobservant when you want to be,” Wedge laughs. He smooths the lines of the blanket across Tycho's shoulders, affection clear in every move. “You look almost like a Jedi wearing it like that.”

“I may not be Jedi, but I don't need the Force to sense how much love went into this project,” Tycho says softly. “Thank you, Wedge. I mean it.” He parts the blanket, steps forward to envelop Wedge inside it and pull him into a powerful hug. “I love it, and I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Tycho grins, spinning them and toppling them over onto the bed. “Cuddle time now. It's a perfect excuse.”

“As if we need one,” Wedge laughs, arms tight around him.


	5. Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was spoiled with art for this fic!

This is the art from my official artist partner, [cactezrat](https://cactezrat.tumblr.com/). The first piece features Wedge in the scene from the beginning of chapter two and the second part of the epilogue.

Aphorist surprised me with a redone meme and a Wedge and Tycho QPR icon.

I also tried my hand at drawing my own piece. This is Tycho with his pride flags - aromantic, Hanahaki aro (he does decide to use it, and I hope to explain that controversy I hinted at in another oneshot), aroallo, and queerplatonic.


End file.
